John Wick Latin Tattoo Novels & Stories

I hand over his phone. He takes it and climbs out of the bed without a care that he's naked in broad daylight. His round ass and muscles flake when he walks to the window to answer the phone. A sudden heat pools in my aching core by looking at his naked glory. He's perfect, carves out of the ancient Greek scriptures. I plop on my elbow and take the time to admire his tattoos. Why these mafia men always have an obsession for inks? My eyes skims over the big lion's head covering most of his upper back and a serpent spitting fire. Something is written in Latin or Greek, I don't know as I'm only acquainted with English, my mother tongue.

His face was getting red and his wolf was showing. “What do you suggest? It’s not like we can send warriors to beat him up for it. They wouldn’t stand a chance, he would have his men with him, and that would be a direct cry for war.” Dad leaned back. We were known for showing no mercy but we needed to be smart on this one. “He walked into her shop and asked for a tattoo.” I said to the room. “The fuck he is!” Colt was pissed off. “I agree, she cannot tattoo him. That is what started this whole thing anyway.”

“We’re going to keep it simple…” “Like?” “Since we’re going to be together…” I paused turning his back towards the bed and pushing him unto it… “I want the tattoo to spell out ‘mio’” “…Meaning?” He asked raising a brow at me “It means…” I paused then stared at him “Jerk” “Really?” “Just kidding” “What does it mean?” “Look it up… that’s what I’m going to be tattooing on your wrist” “But tell me what it means first”

a deep voice called. I turned around and saw a tall, bulky man with a combed back, brown hair and dark eyes. He smirked and stepped closer. Only then did I notice a tattoo peeking out from beneath his partially unbuttoned white shirt—thorny vines crawling up to his neck along with a few words written in Latin. “I'm Giulio, and you look like you can use some male company,” he went on, his eyes drifting down to my cleavage.

The asshole in charge murmured to her and she stilled again as Jimmy collected some ink and started the tattoo. Antonio Ferrantè It only took a few minutes and Jimmy was cleaned up and ready to go. “Just keep it covered and dry.” He instructed as Matteo opened the door and waved him out before following. Antonio walked around to her hip and stared at his name etched into Quinn’s skin. “è cosi bello il mio piccolo cannolo” Antonio breathed. (It’s so beautiful, my little Cannoli) Quinn strained her head up trying to see. “Please, sir…can I see it?”

Leonidas stared at his friend as the male got another tattoo on his back, the red panther tattoo being his neck being the only red thing in the sea of black creatures and words. The man doing the tattoo, a Dionysus Familia, by the name of Stratos, a friend of Loukas made him felt a bit uncomfortable because of his way of speaking and numerous rings on his nose but there was nothing he could tell Loukas to change the male's mind on him. Leonidas felt his eyes stray again to the red tattoo on Loukas' back, a little bit of jealousy filling him.

I had done everything I could to evade the real answers to her questions, only providing her with a light form of the truth. “Let’s start with the tattoo then.” She stated firmly. “Why do you and Luciano both have it?” “What do you already know about it?” I asked her. We were both facing out into the plush navy skies. The deep velvet blankets glittered with white lights that reflected across the now still waters. “Only what he told me.” “It’s not a family crest.” I found her chocolate eyes watching me intently, her silence was the only encouragement to continue. “It’s a symbol of allegiance. I have one, my father has one.”

No fucking way. Out of the corner of my eye I take in his formed biceps with tattoos running from his wrists to I guess his shoulder tops. It’s like a creeping vine with leaves off interspersed with different images. A rose, a heart, hockey sticks and a puck. Typical. Of course he is an ice hockey player. His v-neck shows a tattoo peeping just over the top, it looks like Latin letters, I’m wondering what a dumbass hockey player could possibly have written on his body. I bet it’s something he Googled and had put on. There’s no way he can know a word of Latin. Right?

He picked up the paper towel and wiped the tattoo one last time, cleaning away the blood and the sweat. "Look," he whispered. I forced my heavy eyelids open. I looked down at my thigh. There, stark black against my pale skin, right at the top where the leg met the groin, was a small, elegant 'L'. "L," I breathed. "For Luca." "For Life," he corrected softly. "For Love, for Lust. Take your pick." He applied a thin layer of ointment to the fresh wound, his touch surprisingly tender now that the violence was over. He taped a clear bandage over it. "It will burn for a few days," he said, He kissed me. "Go look in the mirror," he said.

I was beginning to think that running from home was a mistake in the first place, but then, I never would have met Rebekah and Cliff and Joel. My wrists burned again at the thought and I had to look down. A gasp left my lips and rushed out in a puff of cool breeze. It must be a chilly night. Being me wouldn't know that but focus. I looked down at my wrists again. There were two words tattooed in greek. Προστατευόμενη and από which meant 'Protected by' and then there were two names tattoed under it, one on each wrist. Cliff. And Joel.